Did he love her?

It was a fleeting encounter long before you met. Put your energy into finding this woman. She will point you further.

James’ message was actually quite comforting. As annoying as his style of writing was, he did have a knack for saying exactly what I needed to hear. I started to feel like I could rely on someone for the first time since Harry had died. It did feel slightly pathetic that it was a clairvoyant man I’d never met, but beggars can’t be choosers. My sobbing ceased, and I continued packing my things away. James’ words didn’t change anything, and I still needed to get out of that house.

Yvonne entered the room, and I couldn’t even make eye contact with her without clenching my jaw. I started to aggressively pack my things away, totally ignoring her presence. She remained standing in the room, waiting for me to speak, but I was far more stubborn than her.

“John has just told me. You’re pregnant?” Yvonne asked.

“Yes. And if you think you are having anything to do with it, you are mistaken,” I warned.

“It’s my grandchild, Amelia.”

“Not your first grandchild, though, is it?”

“I was going to tell you,” Yvonne began, sitting on the end of Harry’s bed, “I just didn’t know how. I hadn’t even spoken to Harry about it. I found out by accident.”

“Who was she?”

“They met on a night out at university. It was just a one-night thing. She got pregnant and didn’t know how to get in touch with him.”

“Is that why he had a second mobile phone? For his other family?”

“I don’t know, love. But he didn’t cheat on you, and Joshua was an accident from ten years ago.”

The whole thing made my skin crawl. When I was losing my mind because we couldn’t conceive a child, he was speaking to some tart he met at university about their son. Even though I didn’t want to, I kept picturing them together as a family, living the life I wanted. I knew I was getting carried away with myself, but if I wanted the truth, I’d have to find her and ask her myself.

“One more thing, love,” Yvonne started, “about the drinking, are you going to stop now?”

The brass-necked, unbelievable cheek of it.

“Are you for real?” I laughed.

“It’s bad for the baby.”

“I’ve just lost my husband. And you are the last person I would accept a lecture from about drink.”

“I’m just saying, that’s all.”

It couldn’t have been more obvious if Yvonne was holding a little flag ready to plant directly into my stomach. She was already making a claim on my body and my child, just like I knew she would. But I meant what I said. If I had my way, that woman would never even meet this child. Part of me thought that Harry would also actually approve of that course of action. She had already messed her own kids up, and she wasn’t going to be involved with mine.

“Did this Becky leave an address with the letter?” I asked.

“Not that I saw,” she replied.

“Harry must have kept it somewhere.”

“Amelia,” Yvonne said, putting her hand on my knee, “just leave this alone. You need to relax. You don’t want to put too much stress on the baby.”

“I need to know what was going on.”

“I know, but this will only end badly.”

I zipped up my packed bag and left Yvonne sitting on the edge of Harry’s bed, staring into space. I didn’t care about Yvonne’s opinion on the matter. I lost Harry at the height of our love, and I deserved answers. Being pregnant didn’t affect that. John gave me a nod as I walked through the kitchen. I wished I’d dropped him in it with Yvonne as a parting gift, but I didn’t have the energy.

I drove straight home; there must have been something in that house with Becky’s address on it. I doubt he would have kept the letter that was sent, but he must have scribbled it down somewhere. Harry was the most organised person I’d ever met, and he kept diligent notes about everything; it was engrained in him from his work. I cradled my stomach protectively as I sped down the motorway towards home. As much as Yvonne’s words didn’t matter to me, I couldn’t help but dwell on what she’d said. Who knew what damage I’d already done to the baby with the drink and the anti-depressants I was taking? I had been waiting for these fabled parental instincts to kick in, but I must have been born without them. I’d only found out I was pregnant after Harry had died, and to be honest, I was so numb about the whole thing that I didn’t believe it myself. We’d gone through so many failed attempts and early miscarriages that I didn’t think I’d get to full term this time either.

I felt like the entire world was against me. The list of people I could trust was growing shorter by the day. I always knew I couldn’t trust Yvonne and John, but I never thought they would keep something so important from me; they knew how it would affect me. Steve probably also knew about Harry’s son, and it’s what he was going to tell me the night he died, along with the Broadhead ballad. It was my own fault, really. I’d never had time for anybody else; I was just so wrapped up in our marriage. And with Harry gone, I was quite literally alone.

I finally got home; it wasn’t the first time that I had destroyed the entire house looking for something. But I must have missed it, a clue, a tiny scrap of paper that looked irrelevant at the time but now would hold significant value. I emptied every single drawer onto the floor, and I even looked between each book in the bookcase. Nothing. I sat on the kitchen floor, surrounded by the sheer carnage I’d just inflicted on the house, and none of it could help me. As a final attempt at finding it, I decided to text James.

I can’t find her address.

Is it here, somewhere?

Remember, you are walking a path once travelled by Harry.

As cryptic as James’ message was, I knew exactly what he was getting at. Harry had an awful sense of direction and always used his sat-nav religiously. The police gave it back along with all the belongings from his car once they’d catalogued everything. They sat underneath the stairs in a clear bag that I hadn’t had the courage to go through yet. I opened the cupboard door, and I could already see it through the plastic. I quickly ripped it out of the bag and turned it on. I recognised most of the addresses on there, but one stood out.

Once I was only a few minutes out, it became apparent how rough the area was. I locked the doors instinctively; youths littered the street corners with their hoods up, smoking and drinking with no regard for the people who lived there. I pulled up outside the address, and it was an unremarkable house, the same as the other fifty houses on either side of it. There was a child’s bike left there to rust in the garden. I didn’t feel safe here, but it couldn’t have been worse than coming face-to-face with the Broadheads. I made my way up the garden path, and I saw the curtains twitching. She knew I was there. I knocked on the door politely at first, but when no one came for a few minutes, my knock got progressively louder. I just needed to gain entry, and I’d decide later how I was going to deal with this based on her answers to my questions.

“I know you are in there; I saw the curtains moving,” I shouted through the letterbox.

The door remained locked. I pounded on the door as hard as I could.

“Becky, I just want to talk. Please,” I said through the letterbox, “Harry’s dead. And I just want to know what kind of man he was. I don’t blame you,” I shouted.

All at once, the emotions of the day and the constant banging on the door got to me, and I slumped down with the door against my back. I was so tired of it, sick of not getting anywhere. I started sobbing and banging my head against the door. I heard the door unlocking slowly behind me, and I stood up to greet whoever was behind.

A woman answered the door, but she wasn’t what I had expected. She had greasy blonde hair scraped back in a ponytail, and she was wearing pyjamas and slippers. In her right hand, she was clutching a rolling pin, brandishing it as some kind of weapon. It was incredibly shallow of me, but I instantly felt better. There was no way Harry would have left me for her.

“You aren’t going to need that, Becky. I just want to talk,” I said softly.

“Harry’s dead?” She asked.

“Yes. Three weeks ago. He fell off Filey Brigg.”

“Did he tell you about Joshua?”

“No. But I’ve found out since. Can I come in?”

Becky beckoned me inside. I walked in cautiously, and she placed the rolling pin on the table beside the front door, which put me at ease slightly. Toys and clothes were absolutely everywhere, but there was a narrow walkway through the hall into the kitchen, clearly made by Becky sweeping the objects littering the floor to one side. Maybe my parental instincts were kicking in because I felt sorry for her instead of turning my nose up at her. She sat down at the dining table in the kitchen, and I sat facing her; she was fidgeting with a small toy soldier she had picked up, choosing to look down rather than in my eyes.

“So, what was going on with you and my husband?” I asked.

“Nothing. It wasn’t like that,” she replied.

“So, why was he here?”